Evidence
by Icicle Streams
Summary: 'The boy was his evidence. Living proof of what had been. What will be.' Nanjiro musing on his and his son's tennis careers.


The boy was his evidence. Living proof of what had been. What will be.

As he watches his clean strokes, his balanced stance and the familiar flick of the wrist (he thinks that must be hereditary) he can't help but see himself there.

It makes him happy when the boy asks him for a game, although he doesn't show it, only responding with a smirk and a sharp quip. Each time, he sees there is improvement. It won't be long until he is able to play completely evenly against him. Maybe one day he will even win. No... he will definitely win.

The sweat pours down his youthful face, the face that looks so much like his own did so long ago. He himself isn't even hot yet, while the boy is running around excitedly, pouring his heart into the game. It's kinda pathetic, really. Even so, it warms his heart, seeing the kid.

Sometimes Rinko catches him gazing off longingly into the distance when they go to the beach as a family. By the way she touches his arm, he knows that she's wondering if he's thinking of those summery days in America, when he had the world at his feet. She looks at him with eyes full of concern and confusion. He just laughs and pulls her close, kissing her on the forehead and giving her a quick slap on the butt. Ryoma and Karupin turn around quickly at the sound of the commotion, and then turn back around just as quickly with embarrassment when they realise what's going on. She laughs at the whole situation and squeezes his hand lovingly, but he knows that she still doesn't completely comprehend why he gave everything up. She's perceptive and caring enough to understand, but in logical terms, it doesn't make sense.

He himself doesn't completely comprehend why he gave everything up. Going pro was everything he had ever dreamed of. The thrill, the excitement, the _girls_...

He remembers quite distinctly the morning it all started. They'd recently gotten a little fuzzball for a cat. Rinko and Ryoma had passed by an old man selling kittens, and it seemed that their little son had taken a liking to it immediately. Besides, she insisted that cats had always been her lucky animal. He couldn't care less. It seemed to make them both happy. Indeed, the fuzzy creature quickly grew on him, the way it tumbled around with that son of his.

The cat had taken a liking to his favourite tennis ball. He didn't know why, but he had began throwing it across the yard upon request from those big blue kitten eyes. It seemed to amuse Ryoma anyway, who had begun to join in with the games. At first, he couldn't compete well with the agile cat though. One day, he threw it directly between the two of them on a whim, wondering which of them would get it first. To his pleasant surprise, his son lunged forward and caught it on the full in a spectacular forward roll. It was spectacular for such a small child anyway. Waddling towards his father, the boy dropped it at his feet (he must have learned that from the cat) and glared up at him with a fiery determination that startled him. They played a few more rounds before dinner. The boy won every time, much to Karupin's frustration. He couldn't help laughing at that.

The next morning, he awoke to find the boy nudging him with a racquet far too big for him. Dragging himself out of bed, he walked slowly out to the courtyard, the boy following him like a little duck. He handed the boy the racquet and grabbed the ball, excitement overcoming him as the sleepiness left his eyes. Perhaps this was the beginning of something great! With such amazing paternal genes, he'd be hitting killer backhands and high-speed volleys in no time. Of course, the boy couldn't meet his expectations. They didn't have a children's racquet, so they had to settle for him rolling the ball against the wall with the oversized tennis equipment. So much for a mini tennis star. He always managed to hit the same spot on the wall with pinpoint accuracy though. Maybe there was hope for the boy yet.

His own focus was still on his own career. He was going to be Number One in the world. He began, however, to take more and more time out to play with the boy. They'd gotten a children's racquet after a while. Rinko had rolled her eyes when he came home with it, but she always watched them with interest. Karupin did too.

They were playing in the yard one lazy afternoon when Rinko suddenly burst onto the scene. All three of them had jumped when she yelled from the gate.

"Nanjiro! Shouldn't you be at the courts right now? It's a practice tournament today, isn't it?" she asked, a hint of panic in her voice. He always got mad if he missed an important session, seeing how seldom he actually rocked up.

Looking up at her from the boy that had suddenly leapt into his arms in fright, he finally realised.

He didn't care anymore.

Screw the Championship.

Screw being Number One.

He had a new big dream now.

The next day he called Ryuzaki Sensei. She yelled and screamed at him, but then soon settled with a 'It's on your own head.' He knew she would eventually let him do what he wanted. She acted tough, but he knew she would be a sucker for such a sappy story about family. Sometimes he himself couldn't believe it. Most of the time, it was the most brilliant thing he'd ever come up with. This new fascination of his seized him with passionate fury. Nothing brought him more joy and pleasure than seeing his boy running around, his old racquet dragging behind him in one hand, the shiny new children's one held triumphantly in front. It was like the boy was carrying the legacy from the past in his right hand, while forging a new path in his left.

Rinko didn't even bother hiding her surprise when he told her. She never did have much tact anyhow.

"Eh... retirement!"

He could understand her shock. So close to his old goal... but then it didn't really matter anymore. His mind was made up. He had gone and done all that he wanted, and he was satisfied with his own career now.

"It's already done," he murmured, looking ahead at Ryoma who was retrieving the racquet from its hallowed spot on the dining table.

"Huh? Why? If you win the next tournament, you'll be ranked Number One in the world for the first time in your career! I'm shocked... Nanjiro, what on earth are you thinking?"

Their heads both turned at the sound of the sliding backdoor, Ryoma marching determinately towards them. As her eyes darted from him to their son, he could see the understanding dawn in her eyes. She was quick, that wife of his.

Still, she was a lawyer. Things had to be explained in detailed language, backed up with reliable proof.

He might not have the language skills for the first part.

But he sure had some damn good evidence.

The boy was his evidence.

"Hey Rinko... don't you think this kid's got a nice pair of eyes?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>This was my first Prince of Tennis fic. I really wanted to write something, but I had no inspiration. So I gave each team a number, and then gave each member within each team a number. Then, using 2 random number generators and a prompt table from<strong>100_prompts<strong>__, bam. I''m on a roll_**.

**_Constructive crit is welcome._**


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